


let the fire in the city burn

by willowcabins



Series: born to dance among the stars [2]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Battlestar Galactica Fusion, F/F, Porn With Plot, erotic asphyxiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 05:52:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2801930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowcabins/pseuds/willowcabins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don’t you dare ever die,” Root whispered against Shaw’s ear. Shaw shifted against her and raised an eyebrow. Root chuckled, brushing a sweat drenched curl out of Shaw’s face. “Unless I kill you,” She added, almost like a casual afterthought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let the fire in the city burn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lamachine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lamachine/gifts).



> sequel to [Pulse](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2182197)

The cylon ship was sitting, mostly dismantled, on nine different tables that were all propping it up. Underneath it there was about three feet of space, so that one could analyse the bottom of the cylon (where people had peeled away Shaw's ducttape) and admire its biology. Underneath the cylon also proved a wonderful hiding place.

"Mathematically, what you're doing is impossible," Root was saying loudly.

Shaw smirked as Zoe calmly replied: "Cards isn't about Math, Root." Shaw bent down to see the two of them playing bakart, Zoe's eyes glittering with mirth as she won another hand. Root narrowed her eyes at her.

"That's exactly what cards is about," she disagreed, narrowing her eyes.

"What are you two doing?" Shaw asked, clambering below the cylon with them. Zoe gestured up at the wires connected to the cylon leading to Root's laptop, which was happily beeping away next to them.

"Root's collecting data," she said.

"And you're watching her?" Harold's suspicions about Root had become an inside joke on the fleet.

"I'm teaching her to play cards," Zoe disagreed lightly. Shaw raised an eyebrow.

"Cards?" She asked, surprised. Zoe showed her the deck. A complete set of 52 cards, bent and fraying, but definitely functional. Shaw nodded appreciatively.

"Zoe says she's playing," Root sighed loudly, "but she's really cheating." Shaw smirked.

"Cheat better then, Root," she responded. Root pouted.

"Bakarat isn't about cheating!" She complained.

"It kind of is," Shaw pointed out. Root sighed loudly.

"Fine," she decided. "Let's play something else then."

"You're bad at cards." Zoe decided, turning to Shaw. "Shaw, want to play?" She asked with a smirk. Shaw shook her head with a smile. Before she could come up with a good excuse, Root's computer beeped several times in quick succession. Root clicked a couple of buttons: "Data analysis is done," she announced. Zoe sighed.

"Finally," she mumbled, crawling out from under the ship. "Can you teach me more about these thrusters now?" Root unhooked her laptop and followed Zoe out. She straightened up, then offered Shaw a hand. Shaw ignored it and stood up on her own.

"I just got all the raw data. Let me synthesize it first!" Root admonished. Zoe rolled her eyes. She looked at Shaw.

"You're here to relieve me, right?"

"Relieve you," Root repeated bitterly.

Despite Root's acts during Shaw's absence, Harold still suspected her. When Root volunteered to study the cylon ship, Harold had vetoed her. It had taken nearly a month of discussions, lie detector tests and screenings to get her the job she had currently. One military officer, however, would still always be there to supervise Root. "In case I try and send any cylon signals?" Root had asked Adama bitterly when he gave her her sentence. He hadn't smiled.

Shaw ignored Root and nodded at Zoe. "Yeah, I'll be with her for the rest of the day." Zoe grinned and nodded.

"Okay," she said cheerfully. She held out her hand: Root returned her cards. She carefully put a hairband around them and then left with a little wave. Root started working with her data.

"Do you not trust me either?" She asked Shaw bitterly over her shoulder. Shaw smiled.

"I don't trust anyone, Root," she pointed. Root's lips thinned.

"That doesn't help much," she muttered. Shaw shrugged.

"Let me put it this way, Root," Shaw said, stepping forward and touching Root's arm, "when I was down on that fucking dump of a planet all I could think about was coming back here to prove to you that you really should have looked at my thrusters."

"What does that mean, Shaw?"

"It means that I like you."

"You’re starting to sound like an elementary schooler, Shaw."

"You're just being obtuse." It was true. Root was annoyed and offended by the reminder that she had to be watched. She rolled her eyes and finally turned around to face Shaw.

"Do you think I need someone watching me all the time?" She asked simply, looking down at Shaw curiously. Shaw shrugged.

"We could all be cylons and not know it," she said absently. Root narrowed her eyes at her.

"That doesn't answer the question," she pointed out. Shaw smirked.

"It means I like being with you. It's cool to be able to come here and "work" by just watching you do... science stuff." Root sighed and turned back to her data. That was probably the best she was going to get out of Shaw.

 

About an hour after Shaw’s arrival, Root’s computer lit up. Three windows appeared, all flashing red, as some muffled noise emerged from the cylon. Root spun around and stared at the machine in fear; Shaw jumped up and held the machine at gunpoint. The sound lasted for about five seconds, before it stopped. “What was that?” Shaw demanded.

“I don’t know,” Root admitted frankly, staring at her computer and frantically hammering into the keyboard. “This isn’t good,” she hummed, staring at the code on her screen. Shaw stepped behind her and stared, confused, at the screen.

“What is it?” She asked, holstering her gun.

“This seems to be some sort of code,” Root murmured.

“What?” Shaw asked, still confused. Root ignored her.

“Can you call Harold?” She asked, instead. Shaw understood there there was something serious happening her; she complied immediately. Four minutes later, Harold hurried into the room. Root looked up and gestured at the computer as he entered. “Harold, I have a code.”

“Excuse me?” He asked, immediately concerned.

“The cylon just received a transmission.”

“What is it?” Harold asked, brow furrowed.

“I have no idea.” Root answered honestly. “You just told me to tell you about any transmission immediately.” Harold looked at the code and frowned.

“It looks like some sort of hidden message,” he mumbled. “Send this to me immediately. I will try and decipher it as soon as possible.”

“Call me if you need me,” Root added sarcastically. Harold didn’t respond, walking away staring down at his tablet with notable concern. Root glared at his retreating figure. Shaw rolled her eyes and grabbed Root’s arm.

“I’m hungry,” she complained. “Can we please go and eat?” Root let herself be dragged to the dining hall with only mild complaining.

 

There was no warning. Root snapped awake as Shaw jolted upwards. In Root's sleep addled mind, she couldn't differentiate between the rocking explosion and Shaw's waking. Which one had happened first? For a second, Root hung in a moment of confusion, as she imagined Shaw's waking triggering a ship's explosion.

Around her, Viper pilots were tumbling out of beds, swearing and clawing at clothes. Shaw was copying them, and suddenly the room seemed to abuzz with the same phrase; "an attack."

"We've been attacked," someone wailed. Root didn't listen; she jumped out of bed and Shaw pressed clothes into her hand. "hurry," she begged, low voice and strangely panicking. Root slipped into the suit and then they sprinted to the mechanics room.

The usually familiar ship was alight with warning signs; red lights were flashing and loud noises were blaring in every direction. The most direct route to the engine room was blocked. Even with Root's high clearance, the door refused to open. It was probably automatically locked due to oxygen deficiency. Root swore, but Shaw grabbed her arm.

"A different way," she muttered hoarsely, and they ran again. Root's thin shoes barely made a sound on the metal floors, but Shaw's boots started a nice, rhythmic banging. Root cancelled out every single other noise in her head other than those shoes; she needed to keep calm, keep breathing.

Suddenly they were there. Harold was sitting on the floor next to the controls, blood trickling down his temple. His glasses were broken, cracked, and he seemed to be wheezing.

"Harold," Root gasped quietly; Harold waved her off, grabbing Shaw's arm and allowing her to haul him up.

"It's just a cut, Ms. Groves," he murmured. "But John -" He stopped himself.

"John?" Shaw prompted, looking around anxiously.

"We saw them coming," he murmured, taking a tissue out of his pocket with shaking hands. Root took it out of his hands and carefully wiped away his blood as he tried to formulate the rest of his words. "We saw them coming," he repeated. Shaw opened her mouth to hurry him, but Root sent her a warning look. Harold squeezed his eyes shut. "We saw them coming," he repeated one last time, "and so John went to the landing bay, to the vipers, but then --"

"He's still in the landing bay?" Shaw asked. Harold nodded meekly. She turned around as if to run off; Root grabbed her arm.

"Shaw," she snarled. "Its not safe." Shaw shook off Root's hand.

"It's John," she snapped back. And with that she ran away. Root gulped, suddenly terrified. She turned back to Harold.

"It was cylon raiders, on suicide runs on the main bridge and the landing bay," he mumbled.

"It's okay," Root murmured to him. "Shaw's gonna get John." Harold's eyes widened in panic and he grasped Root's arm. "No, she can't," he gasped.

"Why not?"

"We need to save the ship."

"What can we do?"

"Disable them. Disable them all."

"We can't do that,"

"Yes, but we can extinguish the fire. We have to extinguish the fire."

"We have to extinguish the fire," Root repeated, and for the first time Root understood what Harold meant. Her eyes widened. He paled. He understood. She meant to suck out the oxygen.

"I'm en route," Shaw growled. It was code for 'don't you dare'. John had been with her since the very beginning.

"Evacuate the landing bay," Root instructed.

"Not yet," Harold whispered.

"We need to save the ship," Root hissed. "We're wasting oxygen."

"I need to save John," he whispered weakly, sagging against the controls and sitting down his chair with pale wide eyes. "Ms. Shaw," he mumbled.

"Give me five minutes," she growled through the comms again.

"Five minutes?" Root asked sarcastically.

"One minute," Shaw clarified, and then she ran harder.

"The oxygen levels have been decreasing in the room the whole time," Root told her. Root hadn't even closed the vents; it was simply the automatic reaction of the ship.

"A man can survive up to 11 minutes with oxygen deprivation," Shaw gasped, bursting through the doors and standing in the landing bay.

"We can't lose more ships!" Root snapped, and she wasn't sure whether it was directed at Shaw or at Harold. Harold just looked at her, eyes wide, paralysed by panic.

"I'm in the landing bay now," Shaw gasped.

"Shaw."

"There's so much fire."

"Shaw!"

"Tell me where he is Root! I can't see him!"

"Shaw get out of there NOW!"

"He should be near the north-east corner," Harold supplied. There was heavy breathing, and then the sound of something snapping. A quiet explosion. Another gasp, and then a quiet swear word from Shaw.

"I found him," she whispered. Her voice sounded mediated, as if she was talking through a great body of water.

"Shaw," Root growled. "Get out now!" The automatic countdown for sucking all the oxygen out of the room had begun. Root hadn't triggered it, but once the damage to a ship became so severe, its automatic protocols took over. Ninety seconds. Shaw had ninety seconds.

Root felt an odd combination of panic and abject terror claw through her chest as she suddenly realised that Shaw could die. It was an odd realisation; even Shaw had been MIA for three days on an alien planet, the idea of death had never really occurred to Root. Shaw was supposed to transcend petty material concerns like mortality.

“Shaw get out now,” Root shouted, no longer afraid of betraying her fear. She watched the monitor that showed the feed of the only functioning door out of the landing bay in unmeasured terror as a small timer indicated that Shaw only had forty seconds left.

“I’ve almost got him,” Shaw heaved and Root shuddered; Reese was nothing in compared to Shaw. He deserved to die; he didn’t think like she did. Shaw made Root quiver when she whispered her name, brushing the words over her skin with acute care and blind cruelty. Shaw could make Root shudder with only the lightest of touches and the harshest of looks. Shaw was Root’s and ultimately, her death was impossible.

And yet all that Root could do was stare, pale and frozen, at that dumb black and white screen; she clenched her jaw as the clock hit 15 seconds. She stopped breathing when the clock hit 10 seconds.

10 seconds for Shaw to save her by living.

And then, with 2 seconds to spare, Shaw stumbled through the door, supporting a nearly unconscious Reese and collapsed on the walkway. Next to her, Harold sat down in stark relief. Root didn’t even wait; once the image had processed, once she was sure that Shaw was alive, she ran.

 

Shaw woke up in her own bunk. She looked around carefully, making to sit up before dropping back into a horizontal position after putting pressure on the heel of her hand burned. Shaw inspected herself. No broken bones, her internal organs seemed to be functioning. Her scratches had been bandaged and her burns had been attended to. She was alive, and right now, she was well. She looked up. Root was watching her carefully.

“Is Reese okay?” She asked, surprised by how hoarse her voice was. Root’s lip thinned, but she nodded.

“He’s alive,” She said. “Harold’s with him.”

“And the cylons?”

“They destroyed seven out of nineteen vipers, but thanks to you, there were no casualties.”

“How bad’s the damage?”

“Pretty bad. Quite a few technical failures.”

“Why aren’t you helping them fix it?” Root shrugged.

“I was waiting for you,” she replied. Shaw tilted her head and frowned.

“Harold still doesn’t trust you?” She asked. Root snorted.

“Harold claims my display of terror at your potential death was ‘too human to be an act’. I’m free to roam the ship without a chaperone now.” Root said dryly.

“Then why are you here then?” Shaw asked. Root settled at the edge of Shaw’s bed.

“I was waiting for you to wake up.”

“Why?”

“So I could tell you how fucking mad I am at you.”

“What?”

“You could have died.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

“John needed my help.”

“That neanderthal isn’t worth dying for.”

“He’s my comrade, Root.” Root stared down at her, anger prickling her skin as she wanted to snarl at Shaw. Shaw didn’t understand; could she even ever understand? Root’s anger felt bottomless and sharp.

“And you’re mine, Shaw,” Root snapped. Shaw bristled.

“What?”

“You could have died.”

“And without me Reese would have definitely died.”

“I don’t care about Reese.”

“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t.”

“Do you care more about Reese than you care about me?”

“What kind of a question is that? If you were in a burning room, I would save you.” It wasn’t Root wanted to hear. Root wanted to hear something else, something more concrete. She leaned forward so she was above Shaw; Shaw sunk into the bed and looked up at her through narrowed eyes. Root traced Shaw’s face with a graceful hand, tugging lightly at the curls framing Shaw’s face, and then stroking the pale flesh on her neck carefully.

“I don’t want you to save me,” Root murmured, though her voice was laced with a steel edge. Shaw tilted her head, offering more skin for Root. Root drew her nails along the flesh and watched the red marks stain skin. “I just don’t want you to die.” Shaw laughed wryly. Root sat up slightly, staring down at Shaw as she raised an eyebrow.

“I’m a soldier, Root. What did you expect?” Root felt her anger spark anew and indignant and unforgiving as Shaw stared at her, challenging and raw. Root gritted her teeth: Shaw did not get to be funny, not while those burns on her arm were still fresh; not while Root was still sure Shaw would sacrifice herself all over again given the chance. So when Shaw’s lips parted to speak again, Root’s burning anger overflowed; she lurched forward impulsively brought their mouths together roughly. Shaw relaxed immediately into Root’s touch; an intimate gesture of trust. Root resisted it; Shaw had not trusted her earlier. She leaned into the kiss, digging her nails into Shaw’s hip over Shaw’s tanktop, biting down on Shaw’s lip harshly. Shaw submitted, offering her body up to Root.

Root’s hands started pulling roughly at Shaw’s tanktop; her kiss was all tongue and sharp teeth, rough with driven abandon. Shaw had no choice but to give. She tried muffled a groan in Root’s neck; the sound should have seemed out of place, just as much as the rest of this, but it only served to fuel Root’s furious scramble of an advance, tanktop pushed up, revealing tanned skin before Root’s mouth slid away to claim it.  She dragged her teeth down Shaw’s neck as her head angled back to bare it, shameless, helpless beneath Root. Shaw arched into the touch and hissed, barely noticing the hands working open the button of her pants. Root bit and sucked at the swell of Shaw’s chest, tasting the slight tang of perspiration on flesh and the vibrations of those sharp, muffled gaps.

Sitting up, Root stared down at Shaw; breathless, pupils dilated and short of breath and still she could see Shaw preparing to try to explain. Root didn't want her to speak: Shaw’s voice was too velvety, and ultimately she would rationalize it. “A soldier’s duty”, “a friend’s task” or other good reasons. Root didn’t want to hear reasons: she wanted Shaw to feel it. She wanted Shaw to feel that swell of panic; that taste of fear; that depth of confused betrayal. And as she looked down at Shaw; expectant, begging Shaw, Root realised that she wanted to watch her as Shaw felt that pain.

Shaw looked up at her. Root tilted her head. “Do you trust me?” she whispered. Shaw’s gaze was unwavering as she nodded.

“Yes,” she murmured. Root shifted a hand upward and laid it on Shaw’s throat, still holding eye contact with Shaw. Shaw nodded; Root curled her fingers loosely and felt Shaw’s muscled twitch beneath them.

Root’s hand closed, tightening her grip. Shaw didn’t make a sound, though her eyes flickered for a second, and Root recognised the emotion as fear. She continued observing with calculated dispassion that Shaw did not look scared, or betrayed; she looked resigned, like she believed herself to deserve this. A fresh surge of undeserved and yet bitingly vicious anger broke over Root. A sort of grim determination rose like bile in her throat, and she shifted her grip, squeezing harder, forcing Shaw’s head up against the bed as her free hand dug its way unceremoniously beneath the hem of Shaw’s trouser. Shaw’s mouth opened behind Root’s fingers as she tried to gasp as Root ran to fingers over the wet folds of Shaw’s flesh, rubbing her slit. Shaw hissed, but the noise was lost; instead, she ground her hips upwards, desperately seeking more. Root leaned forward so she was position right over Shaw, and stared into her eyes as fingers pushed into wet heat, fiercely possessive, taking what she wanted.

Shaw’s eyes were reddening and she opened her mouth again in an attempt to breathe, but Root just squeezed her fingers around her neck harder, pushing a second finger into Shaw’s heat. Shaw’s body arched as Root started an unforgiving movement, pushing her hips forward in rhythm with her hand. Shaw writhed under pressure as it tried to balance all the conflicting emotions; she could feel her blood rushing and her heartbeat thundering deep within her heaving chest as she arched against Root again, her whole body craving release. Darkness began to seep into the edges of her vision. It was becoming harder to concentrate on anything except the overwhelming pleasure. She clenched around Root, and Root loosened her grip around Shaw’s neck enough so that Shaw could take a shuddering breath as she came around Root. Her body was overwhelmed; black spots appeared in her vision as Root’s hand between her thighs didn’t relent, pushing her further, as Root’s hand around Shaw’s throat loosened slowly. “Root,” Shaw gasped when she found enough breath to speak. Root kissed Shaw harshly, biting her lip. Shaw gave out a small cry as she came undone around Root, gasping as electricity tinged through her spine, setting every nerve in her body in tingling fire. She arched into the pleasure, hissing Root’s name again, but quieter this time. Root kissed her again, but this time softly. She let go off Shaw’s neck and carefully kissed the bruised flesh where her fingers had been seconds ago. Shaw pushed her off. Root didn’t mind, settling next to Shaw on the bed carefully, arranging herself around her. Shaw rolled her eyes, but was still recovering too much to complain. Root leaned over and delicately traced a hand down Shaw’s cheek. Shaw turned away from the touch, but Root just smirked and leaned forward, nuzzling Shaw’s hair gently.

“Don’t you dare ever die,” Root whispered against Shaw’s ear. Shaw shifted against her and raised an eyebrow. Root chuckled, brushing a sweat drenched curl out of Shaw’s face. “Unless I kill you,” She added, almost like a casual afterthought.

 

 


End file.
